The campaign against the bandits went quite smoothly—at least from Isaac's point of view.
He began by eliminating a few small-time looting bands who had taken advantage of the chaos, selling them off as slaves afterward.
Isaac had always regarded himself as the protector of the Roman people.
No one gets to bully the Romans without my permission!
Then, Isaac stopped moving entirely. The raids on merchant convoys continued.
The merchant guilds finally lost their patience and grudgingly delivered the supplies Isaac had demanded.
The Church also reached out to foreign arms dealers to purchase guns and cannons.
Once well-fed, Isaac finally did something resembling work.
With drums and gongs, he led patrols across the countryside, pausing often—making sure Ibrahim's band knew where he was.
After capturing a few petty thieves, Isaac returned to the city and promptly declared the region bandit-free.
When the merchant guilds saw proof that the prince's words were not empty boasts, they celebrated. The Church breathed a collective sigh of relief. Trade routes had been reopened just in time for Christmas.
The promised weapons and funding from the Church began arriving. And even if they hadn't—well, Ibrahim was still nearby.
Boom—Boom—
Isaac and Mikhail inspected the newly arrived firearms at the training field.
Off to the side, the Italian engineer Martinez proudly introduced their features.
"Your Highness, Captain, this is our newest matchlock gun. It fires small-caliber projectiles, and a skilled marksman can fire two rounds per minute!"
He was clearly proud.
Through the Mongol invasions and Arab trade routes, gunpowder and other Eastern technologies had gradually found their way to Europe. At this point, Europeans had developed the ideal gunpowder formula and discovered the benefits of granulated powder.
Heavy artillery was now widely used in siege warfare, and small matchlock guns were being adopted by many of the major powers.
The Ottoman Janissaries were among the first professional armies in Europe to use firearms.
The Byzantine Empire had firearms too, but they were few and scattered, typically used as auxiliaries to infantry units.
Truth be told, the old matchlocks were no match for strong bows or crossbows in terms of accuracy, range, or rate of fire. Their only advantage was ease of use.
Training an English longbowman took at least a year; even training a Genoese crossbowman required three months. And not everyone had the strength to draw such weapons.
But it took only a month to turn a complete novice into a competent gunner. Once trained, even women and children could use them effectively.
Moreover, the sound and flash of firearms spooked enemy horses and demoralized troops. This all-purpose weapon was gaining more popularity across the battlefield.
Latin knights initially sneered at this "commoner's weapon," but the Czech Hussite war wagons taught them a harsh lesson.
By mounting matchlocks and light cannons on wagons and shielding them with walls of shields, these "hedgehogs" left German and French knights with no opening to strike.
The age of bows and crossbows was fading; firearms were becoming the new rulers of war.
"Mikhail, what do you think?" Isaac asked.
"Your Highness, the firepower is impressive, but the guns are clumsy and powder is prone to dampness. They're ill-suited for long marches, though they may work wonders in defense."
Isaac nodded thoughtfully.
"Mr. Martinez, did you personally manufacture these firearms?"
Martinez straightened proudly.
"I designed them myself! My homeland has a specialized factory and skilled workers who can produce these weapons endlessly."
"How many did you bring?"
"The Archbishop ordered 300; I brought 400 in total."
"I'll take the remaining hundred as well. Can you provide instructors and maintenance men?"
"It would be my honor, dear prince!"
Martinez beamed.
That evening, Isaac gathered his team once again.
He decided to expand his guard into a full vexillation of 300 men, with Mikhail appointed as vexillation commander.
The force would include a 50-man cavalry unit, two companies of 100 infantry each, a 20-man Serbian archer squad, and a 30-man firearms unit.
All recruits were to be drawn from among Greek Orthodox believers.
Additionally, 300 of the newly acquired firearms were to be handed over to Thomas for installation along the Corinthian Wall.
The cannons collected by the Church would also be deployed to the wall.
Cannons, due to their weight and difficulty to move, were best suited for sieges and defense. Allocating them to Corinth was the ideal use.
Of the remaining 70 matchlocks, Isaac had a new idea.
"Captain Fidel, I plan to mount sixty matchlocks on our three galleys. In close-quarters ship battles, we can unleash a volley that will catch our enemies off guard. What do you think?"
Fidel considered this. "It's worth trying, Your Highness."
"Then let's do it. The remaining ten guns will be used for training and backup. More purchases will follow."
"What about those two ketches in Athens?"
"Integrate them into your fleet. Bring them to combat readiness as soon as possible."
Over the next two weeks, Mikhail was busy organizing the troops, Fidel trained the fleet and tested the guns. Everyone was busy. Isaac, paradoxically, found himself with nothing to do.
Besides joining his old guard for daily training and shooting the breeze afterward, Isaac had little to occupy him.
Most of the soldiers were quite satisfied with their young master. He trained alongside them, joked with them, and never withheld their pay.
He even conducted surprise inspections of the mess hall and ate with the men. This kept the cooks from pocketing money meant for proper food.
As a royal—fifth in line to the imperial throne—he wasn't bad to have around in times like these.
That was the consensus.
In his spare time, Isaac also met with merchants and clergy to learn about their needs.
Local merchants mostly complained that Latin traders had stolen their entire market, while the empire still taxed them heavily.
Byzantine merchants had to pay taxes. Venetians didn't. Genoese didn't. Just the Greeks. Talk about infuriating.
Isaac could only offer sympathy and "everything but help."
If the emperor dared to revoke the Latin traders' tax exemptions, they'd probably bombard the palace. Even the Pope couldn't stop them.
The clergy, meanwhile, kept probing Isaac's stance on church unification.
But sly old Isaac never took the bait.
"What do you think of the Pope?"
"I've eaten, thanks."
"Do you believe in the Trinity?"
"Provencal wine is exceptional. Not worse than Burgundy or Bordeaux."
Eventually, the priests gave up.
And so, after a few days of idle peace, Christianity's greatest holiday arrived.
On January 6th, in the middle of a snowy dawn, the bells of Christmas rang out.
Athens and Thebes held grand ceremonies to celebrate the 1,445th anniversary of Jesus's birth.
People filled the streets, exchanging blessings.
Churches distributed the Eucharist and led prayers.
Constantine and Thomas returned to Athens. The entire family attended the cathedral mass.
That evening, in the ducal castle, Constantine hosted a family banquet.
The Palaiologos family was still flourishing. The hall was packed with all ages.
Isaac didn't bother with small talk. He drank a little wine and slipped back to his residence.
There were no commercial gimmicks—no presents, no reindeer, no sleigh-riding Santa Claus.
Isaac shook a little bell.
Steward André appeared.
This man had served Isaac's late mother and was one of his most trusted allies.
Isaac handed him four coin purses—two large, two small.
"One goes to the camp—share it among the soldiers. One goes to the Saint Nicholas—let the sailors have a good time."
"Tell them the prince wishes them good health and buys the drinks."
He paused.
"One small one goes to Ibrahim's wife and daughter. Have them write some letters."
André nodded. "And the last?"
"That one's for you, André."
"Merry Christmas."
For a brief moment, Isaac saw a rare flicker of emotion cross the weathered face of the old steward.
The prince has grown up. If the princess were still here, she'd be proud.
André stepped outside into the snowstorm.
The next morning, Isaac was woken by a messenger from his father.
Outside, everything was wrapped in white. The city was a fairytale.
Athens rarely saw snow, being in the Mediterranean climate.
But the winter of 1444 was especially cold.
Breathing warm air into his hands, Isaac entered the audience chamber.
Uncle Thomas was already there—along with a familiar face: Auxiliary Bishop Fujar.
Isaac greeted them one by one.
Constantine motioned for him to sit.
They spoke briefly about the next round of church unification talks.
This was a big deal.
In truth, the late-stage emperors of Byzantium did only three things: defend the city, beg for aid, and hold meetings.
Each time the Ottomans pressed Constantinople, the emperor would journey westward to seek help.
Church unification was always the West's precondition for support.
The emperor and most ministers supported it. So did many pragmatic clergymen.
The real resistance came from the commoners.
They had nothing, so they clung to religion as their only identity.
Every negotiation sparked public outrage in Constantinople.
Thus, the Byzantine side always delayed.
In fairness, the Roman Pope's terms were generous: the Eastern Church could retain its rites, and Rome promised not to interfere.
But hatred of Latins had been projected onto the Catholic Church. The Orthodox believers simply refused.
The church union agreed upon at the 1439 Council of Florence had been reduced to a dead letter—deliberately neglected by the emperor.
The Orthodox were furious—they had failed to stop the emperor's betrayal.
The Catholics were also furious—all their efforts had come to nothing.
It was the quintessential Byzantine "wisdom": pleasing no one.
After the Varna Crusade's defeat, the ailing Emperor John VIII restarted negotiations, placing Constantine in charge.
Now, the details of the upcoming talks were being hammered out.
"Father," Isaac stood. "Let me go to Rome."
"My fleet can escort the clergy. It'll save the cost of hiring ships."
Constantine exchanged glances with Bishop Fujar and nodded.
"So be it."
There wasn't much left for Isaac to do at Corinth. He had done what could and could not be done.
The Morea, under Constantine's rule, had nearly reached its limits.
Just Corinth and a half-dead Constantinople could not resist the Ottoman tide.
It was time to think bigger. The wider world held hope.
Armed with knowledge of history and people, Isaac would now spread his wings.
To Rome!